It was a long climb to the end of the road and the path that led onto the top of the mountain, and Bellerophon was sweating by the time he got there.
During times of war, the guard tower would normally be manned, and the fortifications dotted with sentries, but it was a time of peace, and so the high fortress was devoid of men. Only a few stray goats jumped from rock to rock across the surface of the mountain as Bellerophon made his way past the great spring to the high plateau. There, he set down his weapons and turned his head to the sky with his eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths. Then, he walked to the nearest cliff edge and looked out over the world.
Despite the dizzying height of his vantage point, and the stabbing panic that rose in his chest every time he stood there, Bellerophon forced himself to look, to gaze down the jagged walls of the mountain to his grandfather’s city set among olive and orange. He took in the turquoise mass of the sea and allowed his eyes to wander along the shore to Isthmia and the gulf of poor King Saron beyond where it stretched away into the distance to lands he had never seen.
The world seemed to be throbbing with colour and light, more than ever before, and he wondered at this, whether he was falling into a dream again, just as he always felt from those heights that he would tumble out of the sky. He hated the heights, but he had never admitted as much to anyone. Strangely, Bellerophon had found it necessary to go up there every day, to challenge himself, to train in the sky where only the Gods could see him.
After a few moments, he stepped back from the edge and went back to where he had left his weapons. The large, dead tree trunk he usually practiced on was set about fifty paces away. Bellerophon unwrapped the throwing spears he favoured, and began to throw.
One, two, three… His spears plunged into the dead wood, sending splinters into the air each time as they gathered together in a group. Four, five, six, seven… In rapid succession he threw, never missing, always accounting for the gusting wind in that high place.
When he finished throwing, he ran about the surface of the plateau, as agile as any goat there present, running and leaping from one boulder to the next, avoiding the basking serpents that usually stretched out up there, again, tempting his fears, his dreams of beasts and striking teeth and fangs.
Toward midday, when the sun was hot upon the mountain, Helios lighting his temple there, Bellerophon sat to drink some of the wine from the skin, and to tear into the bread he had brought with him.
He leaned back to look up at the sky, and felt the calm settle over him at last. Martial pursuits always calmed him, helped to clear his mind after the long nights.
“Goddess Athena…” he said, reaching out to the daughter of Zeus in his mind. “Grant me wisdom of action and thought. Guide me, oh Goddess, for I feel lost in this world.” He looked at the gorgon head upon his shield, reminiscent of the Aegis carried by the goddess into battle. “Take me away from this place, away from the long shadows of the past…”
There was a flash of light then, blinding and hot, but when Bellerophon stood and looked around, he saw nothing but the wind in the grass, and the nodding heads of thistle and poppies upon the mountaintop.
Then, voices broke into his hearing, harsh and angry.
Bellerophon recognized the voices of some of the men from the city, and realized they must have followed him.
They were as jackals searching for the one lion cast out of the pride. The leader of the group was Belleros, the eldest son of his cousin, Thoas, whose father Ornytion was Glaucus’ brother. Ever since the death of Glaucus, Thoas’ family had been making attempts to take full control of Corinthos, and Belleros had been the most active in those efforts.
The group walked up the rocky slope toward Bellerophon, pointing in his direction. They began to spread out as they approached, until they formed a wide circle about him. Belleros stood facing Bellerophon.
Belleros was about ten years younger than Bellerophon, but the latter knew he should not underestimate him. Belleros was fast, and quick with a bronze dagger. He was not so strong as Bellerophon, but still, there were four of them.
Bellerophon checked that his dagger was tucked into his belt, and then bent to pick up and sling his quiver of throwing spears across his back, making no pretence about it. He glanced to see that the grips of his shield were facing up beside him.
“Run away from the palace again, Cousin?” Belleros said, chuckling as he pushed back his blond hair. “What are you training for? You pretending to kill the horses that ate your father? We all know how vicious horses can be!” he laughed, and his fellows joined him, their voices echoing around Bellerophon who could tell they were inching closer.
“What do you want, Belleros?” Bellerophon asked, but in that moment he could not help but see the vibrancy of the colour around him, feel an energy in the air that made his fingers and muscles tingle. His awareness was unusually acute, even as he saw Belleros draw his blade and point it at him. “I would put that away.”
“Or what? What are you going to do? We’ve tolerated your family for long enough. Why should your brother rule, or your whore mother have a say in the ruling of the city? My father is the rightful king of Corinthos!”
“You speak of things I care little for,” Bellerophon said, holding his cousin’s gaze as he adjusted his grip on the spear shaft, holding it near the butt end. “Go home.”
“I will. But not before your body lies here for the carrion crows,” Belleros growled.
There was a tense pause, as if the four attackers were holding their breath collectively before they struck.
Then, Belleros rushed forward as quickly as he could, his blade out to kill.
Bellerophon parried his cousin’s arm with his spear shaft and kicked hard, sending Belleros backward down the slope. Without wasting a moment, he spun, slashing the spear tip across the neck of the man who had been rushing him from behind.
Blood sprayed from the wound, and slowed the attack of the other two who were rushing over the rocks on either side.
Bellerophon bent quickly to pick up his shield with his left arm and turned again to loose the spear at one of the men, but the attacker was already crashing into him.
The man cried out as the spear tip found his gut and blood poured over Bellerophon as the wounded man wiggled like a harpooned fish out of water.
Bellerophon tried to gain his feet, but another attack came from his other side and he raised his shield just in time to deflect a dagger thrust. He pushed out and hit the man in the nose, sending him backward screaming.
Belleros rushed again, and Bellerophon turned and made for the high plateau where it was flatter.
“Get him!” Belleros yelled to his one, surviving fellow, and together they rushed after him.
When Bellerophon reached the top, he turned to see them rushing up the rocky path, spreading out. In that moment, he felt nothing but disgust and disappointment, with his entire family, with Corinthos, with his world in general. He could see the hate in Belleros’ eyes, even though he had never done anything to the younger man or his friends.
And yet, all they wanted to do in that moment, was to kill him.
Bellerophon reached for a spear and, more quickly that they could have anticipated, he loosed it so that it shot down the slope to slam into the other man’s throat, sending his body rolling back down the rocky path.
Belleros stopped, breathless, his dagger shaking in his hand as he pointed it at Bellerophon.
“Don’t do this, Belleros.”
“Put down your spears, coward!”
Bellerophon could tell with absolute certainty that his cousin would not stop. “Your father wouldn’t want this.”
Belleros laughed. “You idiot! He’s the one who sent me!”
Bellerophon’s anger rose at that, but he forced himself to stay focussed. He slid the quiver of spears off of his back and laid it on the ground beside his shield. Then, he drew his own, gleaming bronze blade. “Just remember,” he said. “I gave you a choice to stop, and you wouldn’t.”
“You’ll dine in Hades tonight!” Belleros yelled as he leapt at Bellerophon, his blade diving in and out like a viper’s darting head.
Bellerophon parried wildly, dodged left and right, and stabbed out trying to lame his cousin, but Belleros was too fast, pressing him backward more and more with his attack.
Then, a moment came when Belleros thought he could deal his death blow and drew his arm over his head for a final death-dealing thrust.
Bellerophon lunged and kicked him square in the gut, winding him and sending his blade clanging on the rocks nearby.
Belleros screamed with fury and rushed with flailing fists, seeing that Bellerophon was near the precipice. He landed a blow, and then a second on Bellerophon’s jaw, but then Bellerophon spun to get behind him, and Belleros teetered on the edge of the cliff, his arms waving as he tried to regain his balance.
Bellerophon’s fist struck out and he grabbed hold of his cousin’s tunic to keep him from falling to his death.
“Why did you have to do this?” Bellerophon yelled at him, his angry voice breaking out in the rising wind. “I’ve done nothing to any of you!”
Belleros spat in his face. “You breathe.” Then, a second dagger whipped out from behind him.
Bellerophon swept his arm across to parry Belleros’ arm, making him spin, and then he kicked out as hard as he could.
Belleros’ body tumbled over into the air from that high Acrocorinthos, and he fell like a young vulture, too soon pushed out of the nest.
Bellerophon fell to his knees on the rocks to watch as his cousin fell to his death, his body cracking on the cliff face a couple of times before landing on the sloping earth of the olive groves outside the city.
Screams echoed up the mountain as the slaves gathered around the body, their voices rising up to Bellerophon’s ears.
“Damn you, Belleros!” Bellerophon cursed, but as his eyes strayed from the groves to the rooftops of the city beyond, he knew that it was he who was damned.
Bellerophon slept uneasily that night.
Outside, the night sky was lashed by lightning strikes that echoed over the city, as if Zeus’s fist pounded the rocky mountain above. Horses cried wildly from within the palace stables, and in the groves, sheep and goats bleated incessantly, running about the walls as if Corinthos were in the midst of a great maelstrom.
Bellerophon found himself on the top of the mountain again, surrounded by slavering jaws and red eyes. In the darkness beyond, there was roaring…hissing…and fire. The sound of shod hooves was all around him, and an angry neighing accented the night.
He spun, launching spears into the darkness around him, but the eyes, those horrid sounds, still closed in, pushing him more and more until he found himself on the cliff’s edge.
From out of the darkness came Belleros, his body broken and bloody. He reached out, and before Bellerophon could block him, he kicked.
Bellerophon felt himself falling wildly through the air, the dark earth rushing up to meet him, his final thought… This is the end…